Sidney Phone call to Cliff

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SIDNEY: Hello. Is this Clifford Anderson? Sidney Bruhl. [Mouths ‘not the

stammerer’] As a matter of fact I have. I finished it about fifteen

minutes ago, and I must tell you in all sincerity that you’ve got an

enormously promising first draft.

I was just saying to my wife Myra that if you give it the reshaping

it needs, point it up in the right places and work in some laugh, it’ll

be right up there with Sleuth and The Murder Game and Dial “M”.

It has the makings, as we say. I should think you would be. Oh, I

know that feeling so well. I thought The Murder Game was

finished the first time ‘round, and then someone with much more

experience in the theatre took it in hand and revised it with me;

improved it tremendously, and I don’t mind admitting. George S.

Kaufman. He didn’t take credit, though God knows I urged him to

because he was badly in debt at the time and didn’t want it known

that he had a share of the royalties.

But look, I could be quite wrong about this; what sort of reaction

have you had from other people? Oh? No one at all? Oh. I see.

Hm. That sounds ideal – complete isolation, and all you have to

do is check the thermostat and water the plants. I’m surprised

you’ve written only one play since July; I’d have tossed off three

or four by now. I am; a marvelous thriller. It’s about a woman

with ESP. Based on Helga ten Dorp; you know, the Dutch

psychic? She’s a neighbor of ours. It’s called The Frowning

Wife… but that’s only a working title; I’ll have to come up with

something jazzier than that.

I love Deathtrap, incidentally, the title as well as the play. Or the

promising first draft, I should say. Yes, I do; far too many of them

to give you over the phone. Perhaps we can get together sometime

and go through the manuscript scene by scene. I’m free this

evening, as a matter of fact; why don’t you drive down? It’s not

Sidney Phone call to Cliff

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very far.

Oh.

Hm.

Well why don’t you take the train down and I’ll pick you up at the

Westport station and run you over. It’ll be better that way anyway.

You’d have a devil of a time finding us; we’re way off in the

woods. Have to send up flares when we’re expecting people. Do;

I’ll hold on.

[Covers mouthpiece] His car is in for repairs. He’s house-sitting for a

couple who are in Europe. Unmarried.

Myra Collaborate with him

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MYRA: Mr. Anderson, Sidney is bursting with creative ideas about

your play! I’ve never seen him so enthusiastic! He gets plays in

the mail very often, finished plays that are ready for production

supposedly; from his agent, from producers, from aspiring

playwrights; and usually he just laughs and sneers and says the

most disparaging things you could possibly imagine! I know he

could improve your play tremendously! He could turn it into a hit

that would run for years and years and make more than enough

money for everyone concerned! Now, I’m going to say something

that’s been on my mind ever since your phone conversation. It’s

very wrong of you to expect Sidney to give you the fruit of his

years of experience, his hard-won knowledge, without any quid

pro quo, as if the seminar were still in session! And it’s very

wrong of you to have offered to give it to him! I am the one in this

household whose feet are on the ground, and whose eye is on the

checkbook! Now, I’m going to make a suggestion to you, Sidney.

It’s going to come as a shock to you, but I want you to give it your

grave and thoughtful and earnest consideration. Will you do that?

Will you promise to do that for me? Put aside the play you’re

working on. Yes, put aside the play about Helga ten Dorp and how

she finds murderers, and keys under clothes dryers; put it aside,

Sidney, and help Mr. Anderson with his play. Collaborate with

hm. That’s what I’m suggesting. That’s what I think is the fair

and sensible and rational thing to do in this situation. Deathtrap,

by Clifford Anderson and Sidney Bruhl. Unless Mr. Anderson

feels that, in deference to your age and reputation, it should be the

other way around.

Myra Collaborate with him

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Clifford I hope you find the key soon…

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CLIFFORD: Well… a young playwright sends his first play to an

older playwright who conducted a seminar that the young

playwright attended. Nobody else has read it, and then he comes

to visit the older playwright, to get some ideas for rewrites, and he

brings along the original and all his notes and everything. Of

course you’d have to have the Xerox breaking down, to explain

why there are only two copies, and the play would have to be a

very good one – the one the young playwright wrote, I mean – and

the older playwright would have to have nothing much going on

for him at the time…

But we’ve almost got it here, haven’t we? The only difference is

that you’ve got The Drowning Wife and the Houdini play, and

Deathtrap probably isn’t worth killing for. I’ll bet nobody even

saw me getting into your car.

Oh, I forgot to mention, I should be getting a phone call any

minute now. There’s a girl who’s coming to see me at eight-thirty

– that’s around what it is now, isn’t it? -- and I couldn’t reach her

before I left, so I left a note on the hall mirror telling her where I

am and giving the number, so she can call and find out what train

I’ll be taking back. So she can pick me up at the station. One two-

hour walk per day is just about enough for me. So I hope you find

the key soon or else you’re going to have to hold the phone for me.

She’s from Hartford. Her name is Marietta Klenofski and she

teaches at Quirk Middle School. Phys Ed.

Clifford I hope you find the key soon…

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Myra Get away from me!

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[Myra fixes herself a drink]

MYRA: I’d be very happy living on your money, but I don’t relish the

thought of living on his. I’ve tried to understand how you could do

it, bearing in mind your disappointments and your –

embarrassment in our financial situations – but I can’t. And how

will you be able to feel like a winner when we’ll both know it’s his

play? I can’t understand that either. You’re – alien to me, Sidney,

and it can’t be only since five o’clock this afternoon. You must

always have been very different from the person I thought you

were. I don’t think the police are going to be as unconcerned as

you do, so I don’t want anything to happen that will look

suspicious if they come to question us, but—In a month or so, if

we haven’t been arrested, I want you to leave. We’ll have a few

arguments in people’s living rooms – you can write them for us,

little tiffs about money or something – and then you’ll move out. I

wish you could take the vegetable patch with you, but since you

can’t, you’ll buy it from me, as soon as the money starts rolling in.

Before the Rolls-Royce and before you go the Riviera! You’ll buy

the vegetable patch, and the house, and the whole nine-point-three

acres! We’ll get Buck Raymond or Maury Escher to set a fair

price! Get away from me!

Myra Get away from me!

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Helga Pain, pain, pain…

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HELGA: [from offstage, at the Front door] I am your neighbor in house of

McBains. Please will you let me come in? Is most urgent I speak

to you. I call the information but the lady will tell me not your

number. Please, will you let me come in. I am friend of Paul

Wyman. Is most urgent! [Entering…] I apologize for so late I come

but you will forgive when I make the explaining. Ja, ja, is room I

see. Beams, and window like so… And the pain! Such pain!

[toward Myra] Pain. Pain. Pain Pain… Pain. Pain. Pain! [of weapons]

Ei! Just as I see them! Uuuch! Why keep you such pain covered

things? For hours now I feel the pain from here. And more than

pain. Since eight-thirty, when begins the Merv Griffin Show. I am

on it next week; you will watch? Thursday night. I call the

information but the lady will tell me not your umber. I call Paul

but he is not at home; he is in place with red walls, eating with

chopsticks. I call the information again. I say, “Is urgent, you

must tell me number; I am Helga ten Dorp, I am psychic.” She

say, Guess number.” I try, but only I see the two-two-six, which

is everybody, ja? So I come here now. Because pain gets worse.

And more than pain… [starts to wander room]

Helga Pain, pain, pain…

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Helga Must speak…

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HELGA: Must speak. Is why God gives gift. Is danger here. Much

danger. To you… And to you. Is—death in this room. Is

something that – invites death, that carries death.. Deathtrap? This

is word in English, “deathtrap”? Maybe. But feels like real

death… [at chair where Cliff was handcuffed] Man… in boots… Young

man… Here in this room – he attacks you. [indicates weapon] With one

of those. Comes as friend. To help you? To work with you? But

attacks. Is confusion here…He sits in this chair… and he talks of

… Diane… and two other people… Smith – and Colonna. No one

person. Small. Black. Is in play a black man, Smith Colonna? Is

very confusing image… Is gone now. Nothing else comes.

Remember what else I tell you. Dagger is used again, by woman,

because of play. And man in boots attacks you. Of these two

things I am certain. All else is – confusing.

Since I was child. Never could I enjoy a game of hide and go

seek. Was too easy, you understand? And parents did not wrap

Christmas presents; why wasting paper? Later, in my teen ages,

walking with boys – ah, such images! I must go back to house.

You will come take dinner with me some time. I will tell you all

of my life. Would make very good play. Good night.

Helga Must speak…

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Porter Business time…

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PORTER: Business time…Yes. The first item on the agenda is your

will. Now that Myra’s gone you ought to look it over. As it

stands, if anything should happen to you your cousins in

Vancouver would inherit. Think about it – but don’t put it off.

And this is the second item. It’s only approximate, because I don’t

have up-to-date appraisals on the real estate yet, but that’s roughly

what you can anticipate, give or take a few thousand dollars. The

first two hundred and fifty thousand of that is exempt from federal

taxes, and the state tax, which starts at fifty thousand, is only a few

percent.

There’s one more point, Sidney. I was talking to Maury Escher at

the Planning Board meeting last night and he told me you spoke to

him about selling off a few acres. You can’t; not yet, anyway.

You’ll have to wait till the will goes through probate. I wanted to

make sure you were clear on the point. End of business. You’ve

gotten off cheap.

So this Anderson fellow… What’s the procedure? You dictate

and he types?

Porter Business time…

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Clifford A Sure fire first act.

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CLIFFORD: It hit me that night. Remember, I put in that extra speech

when you were looking for the key? It can be a terrific thriller. I

knew you would have reservations about it; that’s why my first

instinct was to say it wasn’t even a thriller. I haven’t enjoyed

putting you on, Sidney. I’m glad it’s out in the open. There is no

possible way for anyone to prove what did or did not cause Myra’s

heart attack. Look, if I could change things I would, but I can’t; it

has to be a playwright. Who else can pretend to receive a finished

work that could make tons of money? A composer? A sure-fire

smash-hit symphony?! No. And would a composer know where

to get a garrote that squirts blood, and how to stage a convincing

murder? And it has to be a playwright who writes thrillers.

Stop and think for a minute, will you? Think. About that night.

Try to see it all from an audience’s viewpoint. Everything we did

to convince Myra that she was seeing a real murder – would have

exactly the same effect on them. Weren’t we giving a play? Didn’t

we write it, rehearse it? Wasn’t she our audience?

Scene One -- Julian tells Doris about this terrific play that’s come

in the mail. He jokes about killing for it, then calls Willard and

invites him over, getting him to bring the original copy. Audience

thinks exactly what Doris thinks – Julian might kill Willard.

Scene Two – everything that happened from the moment we came

through that door. All the little ups and downs we put in to make

it ring true – the I’m-expecting-a-phone-call bit, everything.

Tightened up a little, naturally. And then the strangling, which

scares the audience as much as it does Doris. It’s all up here, every

bit of it.

Scene Three – “Inga Van Bronk” A few laughs, right? Can’t hurt.

Clifford A Sure fire first act.

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Then Julian and Doris get ready to go upstairs – it looks as if the

act is drawing to a kind of so-so close – and pow, in comes

Willard, out of the grave and seeking vengeance. Shock?

Surprise? Doris has her heart attack, Julian gets up from the fake

beating – and the audience realizes that Julian and Willard are in

cahoots, that there isn’t any sure-fire thriller, that Willard is

moving in. The curtain is Julian burning the manuscripts. Or

calling the doctor – I’m not sure which. Now be honest about it –

isn’t that a sure-fire first act?

Sidney Tongues are wagging

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SIDNEY: I’m sure you’re right. I can see the little box in New York

Magazine now – “Tongues are wagging about interesting

similarities between events in the new play Deathtrap and the

private lives of it’s author Clifford Anderson and his employer,

Sidney Bruhl, who committed suicide on opening night. When

queried, Mr. Anderson said, ‘No comment.’” I have a comment,

Cliff. No. Absolutely, definitely no. I have a name and a

reputation – tattered, perhaps, but still valid for dinner invitations,

house seats, and the conducting of summer seminars. I want to

live out my years as “author of The Murder Game,” not “fag who

knocked off his wife.” Why look, a fieldstone fireplace! [crossing to

fireplace] Lets see if it’s practical to the extent that paper –

Sidney Tongues are wagging

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Sidney Deathtrap is over

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SIDNEY: I’m Hubbard now and you’re Julian. Go on up to the wall.

Take the ax. [Cliff does so] It doesn’t look natural that way. Try a

different way. All right, go back to the way you had it. Now put it

down. On the floor. [Puzzled, Cliff does so. Sidney aims pistol at Cliff.] Stand very

still. We have goodbyes to say. Deathtrap is over. We’re now

into theatre verite. [Storm gathers strength] The gun from Gunpoint. No

blanks as at the deal old Lyceum though, real bullets, courtesy of

the Messrs. Remington. I loaded it last night, after you were

asleep. I really don’t want that play to be written. Even though

nothing can be proved, too much will be talked about, and I’m a

little too old and, yes, uptight, to join the Washington secretaries,

and the ex-lovers of ex-presidents and the happy hookers and the

happily hooked, in the National Bad-Taste Exposition. And I

honestly can’t think of any other way to make sure you won’t set

me up in a centrally located booth. I asked Porter to have you

checked out in Hartford. A few bots were found on your record,

precisely the ones you told me about, and Porter feels – we

discussed it this evening – that they tend to justify the unease I’ve

been feeling. So I came home and gave you your notice, you

became abusive and violent, and Mrs. Ten Dorp’s three week old

vision came to pass. Luckily I got to the gun, which I have the

license and right to use in self defense. It beats digging up the

vegetable patch, doesn’t it? I’m truly sorry, Cliff. If you hadn’t

succumbed to thriller malignis, in what is surely one of the most

acute cases on record, who knows, we might actually have become

the team of Bruhl and Anderson. As it is, we’ll have to be – only

Bruhl. I’m out of dialogue. Your go. No? Nothing? I thought

you might promise to become a steamfitter or something.

Sidney Deathtrap is over

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Clifford Curtain.

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CLIFFORD: So there I am with my problem. Sidney’s not going to

help me with it, not voluntarily; this I know from square one.

Sidney uses three kinds of deodorant and four kinds of mouthwash;

not for him the whiff of scandal. But is there maybe a way I can

harness that seventeen-jewel brain and set it to work for me all

unwittingly? So I begin writing Act One, and every time I leave

the desk, I inconspicuously lock the drawer. So inconspicuously,

in fact, that for a day and a half smart Sidney doesn’t notice. But

dull old Porter comes in, thank God, and saves me the

embarrassment of getting heavy handed and leaving a loos page

lying around. So there we are, Bruhl and Anderson. I write,

Sidney thinks. I don’t sleep much – last night, for instance, I

barely go a wink with all the tiptoeing that was going on – but I’ll

make it up next week. Thank you for Act Two. No Inspector

Hubbard. Julian’s lawyer is the fifth character. Scene One- Julian

finds out that Willard is writing the real Deathtrap about Doris’

murder. With changed names, of course. [Storm is peaking] He

pretends he’ll collaborate, but asks old “Peter Pilgrim” or

something to check up on Willard, knowing full well there are

false and unfair charges to be found. Scene Two – Julian sets

Willard up for what’ll look like murder in self-defense by getting

him to enact bits of business for the play. That beautiful, Sidney!

The whole thing we just did; it’ll play like a dream and I never

would have thought of it! I’m really in your debt. Julian shoots

Willard, who’s basically an innocent kid Julian led astray—--but

the very next moment Inga Van Bronk and Peter Pilgrim come in.

She’s called him because she’s been getting bad vibes all night;

they met at Doris’s funeral. Willard lives just long enough to tell

the truth about himself and Julian and about Doris’s murder, and

Julian shoots himself. Curtain.

Clifford Curtain.

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